


The Vile

by DoqWithAQ



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28228965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoqWithAQ/pseuds/DoqWithAQ
Summary: When looking for weapons used by a monster, take care you do not rediscover your own.Or do so on purpose, because you could always use another weapon in your arsenal.
Kudos: 5





	The Vile

He thought it would take all night to find what he was looking for, truth be told.

Fortunately for him, that wasn’t the case. The Thieves’ Cant spread throughout the city streets was rather easy to spot, and even easier to read, providing him the directions he needed to find the Red Tail. They may as well have lit the way with lanterns for how ‘hidden’ it was. Kolmanad’s cloak fluttered lightly in the cold Winter Star breeze, his bare tail slowly swished to and fro, but he didn’t feel the cold’s bite. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt much in a long, long time. He at least made the attempt to look like he did, however. Sometimes, like now, he didn’t want to draw any eyes to himself.

He stood before the door to the Red Tail: a large, iron wrought door with an eye slot built into it. With a quiet sigh, Kolmanad walked over to the door and rapped on the door three times with a quiet, echoey ‘thud, thud, thud’.

A deep, masculine, and heavily accented voice called out from behind the door in Common. “Password?”

_Shit. Bibs didn’t mention anything about a password._

“What is the password? Now.” The voice was all but a growl.

With a sigh, Kolmanad closed his eyes and leaned his shoulder against the door. He began quietly speaking in Thieves’ Cant, positive that it would smooth things over a bit if the one behind the door knew that he was of...similar background. _“I apologize, but I was uninformed of the necessity of a password.”_

The use of thieves cant seemed to draw the...guard’s? owner’s? attention, a swear muttered from behind the door as the eye slot opened, and a pair of pure white eyes glared at him. Not cataracts, not blindness, simply pure white eyes. 

_Interesting._ Kolmanad filed that piece of information away for later.

_“What do you want?”_ The black market dealer’s voice rang out from behind the door, the reply in Thieves’ Cant.

“If you don’t mind, friend, it is a tad cold out here,” Kolmanad began, swapping back to the common tongue. “I would be willing to pay to...intrude upon your establishment, if you do not mind. I simply seek information.”

“Heh...intrude...” A quiet murmur came from behind the door as the pair of eyes left the slot, seeming to consider his offer. They quickly returned, as did the gruff voice. “How much?”

“Fifty gold,” was Kolmanad’s curt reply.

“Hmmm…fifty gold can buy you information.” One of his eyebrows raised slowly. “What’re you looking to know about?”

Kolmanad decided it was better to just get it over with, rather than dance around the subject. “I seek information on a specific pair of daggers.” He slipped back into Thieves’ Cant for a moment. _“Kallaman the Vile’s, to be exact.”_

Upon hearing the name, the pair of eyes widened to dinner plates, and the eye slot was promptly slammed shut. “Go away!”

Another sigh left the rogue’s lips as Kolmanad shook his head. “I need that information, friend.”

No response. He was losing the dealer and he knew it. _Best to start upping the ante._ “A hundred gold for the information.”

“No!” came the black market dealer’s succinct reply.

“A hundred and fifty.”

“No!”

_This is going nowhere, fast._ He had to catch the man’s attention, “Three hundred.”

“What do you want those daggers for, anyway?!” The dealer hissed incredulously from behind the door. “Haven’t you heard the stories? Kallaman the Vile was a fucking _legend_. That demon was a killing machine with a body count wider than the Saizan River, and just as deep!” 

The...reverence with which he spoke almost brought a smile to Kolmanad’s face. Almost. But the tiefling kept his face decidedly neutral, regardless of whether or not the man behind the door could see him. “Three hundred and fifty.”

A growl and the dull ‘thump!’ of a fist hitting the door precursed the response. “Why the fuck are you so insistent on getting those cursed daggers?”

Kolmanad’s tone was flat and unimpressed. “Because I’m not afraid of a dead man who was beheaded thirty years ago for his crimes, and I have need of some decent weapons.”

Quiet chuckling echoed from the other side of the door. “Haven’t you heard the rumors?”

_Oh?_ He didn’t have his ear to the ground like he used to, so his curiosity got the better of him. “What rumors?”

The slot opened again, but no eyes appeared. Instead, Kolmanad heard the conspiratorial whisper of the black market dealer. “They say Kallaman’s spirit still stalks this plane...that even speaking his name draws him closer to you!”

A quiet laugh left Kolmanad’s lips before he could stop himself, and sprinkled a bit of disbelief into his voice as he spoke. “So, what, do I say ‘Kallaman, Kallaman, Kallaman’ into a mirror three times and he’ll appear behind me in my reflection?” His voice turned serious as he leaned toward the door’s slot. “I told you that I’m not afraid of a dead man.”

Another growl rumbled from the other side of the door, then a frustrated huff. “Fine!! Four hundred gold, if you’re so adamant on finding those cursed weapons.”

_Finally._ “Deal.” _Although, the fact that he’s settling for only four hundred has me suspicious…_

The eye slot shut again, and many, many dull thuds, thunks, and clicks echoed from behind the door as the dealer seemingly went about the arduous task of unlocking the door. It made sense to Kolmanad, since a black market would likely be a target for the city guard. If no one could get inside, they’d simply leave it be, and if they were quiet, they wouldn’t draw any attention. He drew away from the door to give it space to open, when it eventually did.

After about three minutes, the door finally opened, and there stood a large, goliath man, white eyes fixated on Kolmanad as he held out his hand. “The gold.”

From underneath Kolmanad’s cloak, he produced four weighty pouches of coin, tied off with a tight piece of twine. The goliath held all four pouches in his hand, feeling the weight. Seemingly satisfied with what he held, he turned on his heel and motioned for Kolmanad to follow.

_This would usually be the part where—_ Before he could finish that thought, Kolmanad felt the goliath’s fist collide with his cheek. The blow was strong enough to send him to the ground front first, with a heavy foot on his back following behind. Around him, he heard the quiet ‘clicks’ of three readied crossbows, likely trained on him.

He felt no pain from any of it—truthfully, he hasn’t felt much in a long, long time. 

But very soon, he just might.

The goliath dug his foot deeper into Kolmanad’s back, another growl rising in his throat. “Kallaman the Vile’s daggers could make me a fortune the world over!” he spat as he leaned down. “Four hundred gold is pennies to what I could make. Now,” with slow deliberateness, the dealer pulled away Kolmanad’s hood, scarf, and cloak, “tell me why you’re really here, eh?”

All was silent for a moment.

Kolmanad turned his head to look up at the goliath out of the corner of his eye, then slowly tilted his head back. The lamplight illuminated the pale-red skin of his face, the shine of his faded green eyes…

And the soft white skin of the scar that encircled Kolmanad’s neck.

He grinned up at the goliath that stood atop him. His voice dropped deeper, became raspier and much more threatening. “Weren’t you the one who said that speaking my name draws me [closer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tV4Dcm794Kw)?”

The goliath’s eyes widened, and the guards whispered audibly amongst themselves. “N-No...no you can’t be…” The goliath shifted his weight slightly, and that was when he took action. The tiefling slipped out from under the goliath’s foot into a crouch, and heard him stumble backwards onto the floor behind him. The tiefling slowly drew himself to his full height—admittedly, five feet and ten inches is not terribly tall nor imposing, especially compared to a goliath, but they all seemed intimidated all the same.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the shadowy figure of Argo leaning against the wall, the half black, half silver mask glinting in the light as the god-like being drew a thumb over their own throat.

“Kill them. Kill them all.”

The tiefling pointedly ignored the god, and turned to face the goliath who was now cowering on the floor. The guards around him had their crossbows still pointed at him, but looked largely unsure of themselves. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face as he looked down at the man. “Where are my weapons, Merk?”

Merk, the goliath black market merchant, backed away in terror, and practically screamed “How do you know my name?!”

Truth be told, he knew because his master spy contact, Bibs, had included it in his letter, but he wouldn’t say that to them. That would spoil the game they were having.

He maintained the deep, raspy voice from earlier as a quiet growl rumbled in his throat, “That doesn’t matter. Where are my daggers, Merk?” By this point, the guards are visibly terrified in the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t spare them a glance.

Noticing their chance, the three guards bolted out the back of the building as fast as their legs could take them. He considered slaughtering them as they fled for a brief moment, but settled on letting them go instead. Let them tell their madman’s tale.

Merk, left all alone, was sobbing quietly, with pleas along the lines of “Begone from this plane, spirit,” and “Let me live, spirit!”

The tiefling was running out of patience with the goliath. “One last time, Merk. Where. Are. My. Daggers?”

“I don’t know!” was Merk’s egregious lie, as he backed further away from the tiefling before him until his back hit the counter behind himself.

The tiefling shook his head slowly, letting out an exasperated sigh. He glared down at Merk as he took another step toward the goliath. “No no no, Merk. As I recall, you were the one who said, and I quote, ‘Kallaman the Vile’s daggers could make me a fortune the world over.’” He took another step towards Merk, ignoring the various, sobbing pleas for mercy. “Now then, no more lying. Where. Are—.”

Merk voice came out shrill and panicky. “The wall! That one to your right, it’s a false wall, just, please, don’t—!”

“Where is the switch?”

“Th-Th-The lo-loose s-stone!”

He identified the stone quickly, and with a swift kick, the false wall panel slid back...and there, hooked onto the showcase, were a pair of daggers. 

They were still in the sheathes he left them in.

He sucked in a quiet breath, and with slow reverence he grasped the hilts of the daggers and unsheathed them both.

The blood still shone on their blades.

“Ohhh, my darlings…” Kallaman the Vile quietly breathed as his finger ran along the ever-bloody blade. He sheathed the smaller of the two, undid the binding on his leather bracer, and slowly rolled up his sleeve. With the blade pressed against his arm and intentional slowness, he sliced into his own flesh, the blood flowing with unnatural ease. He let out an exultant breath at the sharp pain that he felt—that he _felt_ —and a low, blissful “Yeees…” passed through his teeth.

Quiet sobbing caught Kallaman’s attention again, and upon turning his head, so did the abject terror in Merk’s eyes. With deliberate slowness, he sheathed the blade, clipped both blades onto his belt, and set about bandaging the gash upon his arm. The blood flow had slowed at that point, as his revived nature took hold once again.

And in that relative silence, he could hear the quiet shuffling of hands and feet.

“Did I say you could move, Merk?”

It brought him great satisfaction when the shuffling immediately stopped.

With his wounded arm properly bandaged, Kallaman turned his full attention to the goliath on the ground, whose face was wet with tears. In that moment, he thought of a fun little game the two of them could play, one that made him smile all the wider and all the more maniacally. He strode the two steps needed to close the distance between himself and Merk, while one of his hands busied itself inside one of his pouches. “Merk. Hold out your hand for me.”

One absurdly shaky hand was held out, and Kallaman leaned down to place something in it. Merk flinched, and flinched hard, but Kallaman made sure that he still held what was left behind.

Left in Merk’s palm was a single, wooden, six sided die.

Kallaman’s voice took on an eerie calm. “Roll that for me, please.”

Merk’s, on the other hand, was shaky at best. “Wh-What will happen when I do?”

“Did I tell you to ask questions?” The question and tone brooked no argument.

Merk did as he was told, the wooden die clattering quietly against the wood floor until it finally came to rest.

“Tell me the number,” Kallaman requested expectantly.

Merk finally tore his gaze from the wooden die to look up at Kallaman, face wet with new tears. “Five...i-it is a five…”

At that, Kallaman hummed quietly. He clasped his hands together and stretched them above his head, and the audible ‘pop’ of joints came from his shoulders. He made a show of twisting left, cracking his back, then twisting right, cracking it some more—.

Then, in one smooth motion, he drew Mercy from its sheath, sliced Merk’s throat open, and sheathed the blade once more.

The blood burst forth from Merk’s throat, and there was a strangled cry from the black market dealer as his eyes bulged wide at the shock of what just happened. He looked up at Kallaman, the question of ‘Why?’ plain on his features.

Kallaman slowly knelt in front of Merk as he died. “You were unlucky, friend.” He made a point to pick up the wood die and stow it away. “If you had rolled evens, you would have lived.” The tiefling watched the goliath’s eyes turn glassy, the panic fade, until nothing remained but empty meat.

He slowly stood back up, and a quiet, shuddering breath left him as he dragged his hands down his face.

Then, he heard the slow clapping behind him, and turned to fix Argo with an unimpressed, stony look.

“Well done, well done indeed,” Argo congratulated the tiefling, then folded their hands behind their back. “The question is, am I speaking to Kolmanad…or Kallaman?”

He took another moment to breathe deep and release it. “I wasn’t lying, earlier, when I said Kallaman was a dead man,” replied Kolmanad, although he knew he was as sure of that answer as Merk was alive.

Argo very slowly turned their gaze to the body of Merk, as the blood continued to pour from his ruined neck. “Perhaps the spirit of Kallaman still lives.”

“...Oh, what, this?” Kolmanad gestured to the body. “That doesn’t count, it’s Winter Star. It’s a cheat day.”

“...Mm. Yes. A ‘cheat’ day.” Argo gave a dismissive wave. “Regardless, I do wonder where your path will lead to next...” They paused for a moment. “Oh. And Merry Winter Star...‘Kolmanad’.” Without any sound, sight, or fanfare, Argo disappeared—there one second, gone the next.

Kolmanad stood there for a moment, in the silence of the black market shop. A slow shudder ran through him as he looked down at his hands. He blinked, and they were covered in blood up to his biceps. He heard laughter and whirled around fruitlessly to find the source of it, only to realize that the laughter was his own. He slammed his mouth shut hard enough that he could swear one of his molars cracked.

One more slow, deep breath, and he managed to calm down.

“I’m not him,” Kolmanad lied to himself. “I’m not…”

**Author's Note:**

> This little one shot was from one of my campaigns that I was in, and was, frankly, one of the best instances of my improv to date.
> 
> It was so much _fun_ being so in character like that. 
> 
> God I hope I can do something like that again.
> 
> Fun fact #1: In the scene after this that Kol was a part of, he brought back all the loot he stole from the black market, and also taught one of the party members the meaning of ~~Christmas~~ Winter Star
> 
> Fun fact #2: When I told one of my friends the 'Oh my darlings' part, she replied "you _thespian_ "


End file.
